From the very first moment of Amy’s life, lying had been ever-present. Her mother was a pro at bending the truth without blinking an eye or inventing stories. Amy never understood why it was necessary, but she got used to its presence, and it became part of everyday life. She also learned that a woman could always get herself out of any situation with a well-crafted lie. In fact, women were allowed—sometimes even expected—to lie. She admired her mother’s vivid imagination, yet couldn’t comprehend why the woman often referred to others as “lying pigs.”
By the time Amy was 32, Cupid’s arrow still hadn’t struck her. Then again, her frequent moves made it difficult for it to hit the mark. Amy often had the urge to move. Thanks to her lively imagination and confidence, she easily found jobs wherever her heart took her. Her colorful stories quickly won over her new colleagues. But after a year or two, she would get fed up or grow tired of the role she had chosen. In her imaginary worlds, she usually portrayed a girl who had risen from poverty to great heights, who had been noticed by a billionaire during her travels abroad and soon married him. However, their passionate love story ended tragically when her husband was framed and killed. In the story, the widowed Amy claimed she only worked to keep herself busy and avoid feeling the painful absence of the love of her life. She loved telling her audience about their exotic travels. Sometimes, of course, someone doubted her words. In such cases, she would become deeply offended, protest loudly, and then look for a new place to work in a different part of the country.
She had been living in the same peaceful town for three years. For the first time in her life, she felt she didn’t want to move on. She even made two friends she started to care about. They got to know Amy as a die-hard single, who kept multiple lovers at once. Since both of her friends were married, they listened enviously to Amy’s exciting tales of sexual escapades. The two women never found out that nobody had been in Amy’s bed for quite some time. Since the women lived in comfortable wealth, Amy’s tragic ex-husband was said to have left her with much less money, and thanks to his mysterious job, they only traveled to places where her two friends certainly hadn’t been. Slowly, Amy started to trust them, and sometimes she didn’t even feel like lying anymore.
Then suddenly, everything went wrong. In a single moment, the bubble that had finally surrounded Amy burst.
The three of them were making homemade ice cream at one of her friend’s houses.
“I finally sold that bread maker we bought last year but never used,” the hostess said.
“The red one?” asked the other friend. “I liked that one so much. I would have bought it myself. It would’ve looked great in my kitchen, even as a decoration.”
“How did you sell it?” Amy asked.
“Don’t even ask! I put it online, and the person who reserved it started haggling shamelessly when they came to pick it up.”
“And you gave it to them?”
“I did,” the hostess shrugged. “I didn’t feel like listing it again, and honestly, I didn’t lose out on the deal.”
“People are so brazen these days,” Amy added.
The ice creams turned out delicious. The women sat on the terrace, enjoying the sunshine, each other’s company, and the flavors. Amy finally felt at home and didn’t want to start a new life again.
She didn’t really want to go into the kitchen. She didn’t even need a napkin. Yet she went in. After finding the napkin holder empty, she opened the pantry to grab a new pack. Immediately, her eyes landed on the box. The box of that damn red bread maker, which her friend hadn’t sold at all but had lied about for some reason. Amy was stunned by the senseless fib. She stared silently from the doorway at her two friends, happily chatting. It was hard for her to sit back down between the lying pig and the other one.